Snakeboy
by Trin2
Summary: SLASH. Percy finds the oddest things, sometimes. Tom Riddle's diary is one of those things.


This is **SLASH**, Tom/Percy. If you do not like it, the "Back" button is there for a reason.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, et al, is property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. 

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Snakeboy

Percy finds the oddest things, sometimes. The Weasley Burrow is not unlike a very old, shambling museum, complete with well-meaning, absent-minded curator (viz. Arthur Weasley) and dutiful janitor (viz. Arthur's wife). But it isn't at the Burrow that Percy finds the oddest thing he's ever seen in his short years; it's in his sister's dorm room, at Hogwarts. 

It's a thin black book, a Muggle book. Percy purses his lips and wonders if Ginny has been sneaking off to buy Muggle books from Vauxhall Road (wherever _that _is). It is terribly dangerous to wander off in the Muggle world, who knows what sort of mechanical atrocities might run her over on the cauldron-black pathways? 

It belongs to a Tom Riddle. Now Percy has never heard of this Tom Riddle lad, and here he's even more agitated. Could Ginny, sweet blushing Ginny, have possibly _stolen _this book from somebody? 

Of course, Percy fails to note that he too, is sort of stealing this book from Ginny. By even stepping foot into the girls' dorms, he's breaching a yet unwritten rule in Hogwarts, that the sexes should remain segregated (in the physical act of sleeping and the place where this happens, if nothing else). A rather unfortunate rule, if anything. 

But Percy, being a prefect, only really cares about the rules that _are _written down. In fact, it's practically his duty to make sure that young gels like Ginny aren't stealing things from other people -- whether or not he discovers it through idly searching through her chest of possessions, locked. 

It was easy, of course, to open the chest with a whispered wood to charm the lock. This is Percy protecting Ginny. She's too young to fool around with other people's diaries. It's lucky he's here to take it away.

He skims through the diary during a particularly mind-numbing History of Magic lesson. Of course, normally it would be fascinating to learn about the intricacies of the policy the Irish banshees have towards Celtic bards, but Professor Binns seems a bit peaky today. Somebody whispered to somebody else behind him that some juniors had asked him some question about the Chamber of Secrets. 

Percy harruphs and turns to chastise the wayward students, who glare at him. Five minutes later, they start whispering again. 

"Bastards," Percy says under his breath, the curse lingering on his lips and titillating the child inside, the one who was punished once, for calling Fred a wanker.

He doodles lazily in long swoops in Tom Riddle's diary, then stops with a startled, guilty jolt, desperately scrapes at it with his fingernails. It wouldn't do for a prefect to be found vandalizing another student's property. Of course. 

The ink disappears without a trace, into the paper. For the merest second, Percy almost sees the paper as having depth, being more than a thin two-dimensional sheet. There is a flicker of shadow across the nonexistent depth, then is gone.

Words float up. 

__

Bored?

Percy glances around furtively. Surely this is wrong, surely this is some form of Black Magic, surely he should stop doing this right now and start concentrating on the lesson like a proper prefect...

__

Yes, he scribbles and breathes deep, to calm himself. 

__

Want to be anywhere but there, don't you?

I suppose, Percy writes. His eyes scour the surrounding students, who are either oblivious or asleep. Nobody really notices him, until he starts deducting points from their Houses. 

__

What's your name?

Percy.

I'm Tom Marvolo Riddle, Percy. I can show you some place more interesting than where you are. 

Percy nibbles at the tip of his quill like an anxious squirrel. _Alright_, he finally decides.

The pages of the diary flip sharply, with purpose, caught in a miniature whirlwind with devices of its own. Startled, Percy doesn't even notice that the window that has appeared in the middle of the page has grown larger and larger. That is, until his frightened elbow dips into it, and some strange momentum takes ahold of him and yanks him through it, in a swirl of colour and shadow.

Percy isn't in the classroom for the History of Magic anymore. He is in what looks suspiciously like the Slytherin Common Room, with verdant and twisting green pennants and crests on the stone walls; flickering fires that spit onto emerald carpets that have quilted snakes twining in and out of gold borders. 

Percy stands up, eyes blinking. It reminds him of a Muggle storybook that Hermione once told him about -- Amelia in Wonderland, was it? Something like that. Through a rabbit hole and into a strange new world. 

A tall, black-haired boy, lounging across a green velvet sofa, is talking to somebody behind Percy. This is nothing new; people talk through Percy all the time. All the time. Percy heaves a sigh of relief at this small familiarity, at least, in this uncertain place.

"... I think you should be going off for your little rendezvous with Grace, don't you think?" the boy says, and with a wink that speaks volumes and a smile that knows a bit too much for it's own good, "Good luck."

The person behind Percy leaves. Percy is beginning to suspect that nobody in this strange Wonderland knows he is actually there; personally, this really isn't any improvement than what he'd been in reality. Perhaps the diary had taken him within his own mind and is showing him some subconscious thoughts (although it would have to be pretty damn subconscious to include Slytherins).

"Hallo, Percy," says the boy, with the same wide smile. It is, Percy thinks, like a concealed dagger up somebody's sleeve, like an ace card nobody can see. It slashes its way through the game itself and makes everything else seem trivial and irrelevant. 

"Hello," replies Percy hesitantly. "Are you some part of my subconscious, or something?"

The boy cocks his head and stares at Percy for a few calculated minutes beyond Percy's comfort zone, then tilts his head back and laughs a laugh that sounds like demented children. 

"No. I'm Tom," the boy says. "I'm a Head Prefect, here. In this time, that's a long time before yours."

"I'm a prefect, too," said Percy. "Listen, do you know how I can get out of here? It's History of Magic, you see, and it's almost my favourite subject --"

"Among many others, Percy?" grins Tom. "Do your subjects replace people?"

Percy sputters. "For a Head Boy, you're certainly impertinent!"

"I'm far older than you are, Percy," and here Tom's eyes turn large and pleading. "Don't you want to know what I know? I've learnt a lot, Percy. I'm just _dying _to show off."

"Learn what?" asks Percy, suspiciously.

Tom slips off the sofa and insinuates himself all over Percy's front, his hand reaching down to cup the small of Percy's back. Percy jolts a bit, from the unexpected contact, but the buzz of Tom's hand draping itself lavishly across his back tingles all the way up and down his spine, so he doesn't move. Almost doesn't breathe. 

Purrs Tom, "Quite a number of things, Percy. You'd be surprised."

"I already am."

Tom surveys Percy, his nose barely inches away from Percy's. Tom's eyes are small, deep-set pools of red, like the small, jewel-like organs that Percy had to dig out of lionfish for Advanced Potions. Then Tom smiles at Percy as if he wants to eat him, bones and all, and repeats, "I'm just dying to show off."

Tom's free hand nonchalantly traces the outer whorls of Percy's ear, and Percy shuts his eyes from the strange sensation. Tom's fingers feel like slippery cold snakes, and Percy hisses, in return, as they trace a curving path down Percy's jaw. 

A mouth suddenly darts to his ear and whispers, "Let me?" and breathes into it, heat rustling and inflaming his entire skull, as if Tom's whisper has gone straight to Percy's brain and is doing a neat little lightning-footed jig on it.

Percy nods tightly, a damned blush creeping like ivy up his neck. Tom laughs at it and kisses Percy. His lips are dry as paper, but with enough coaxing Percy feels as if his own are hot enough to burn Tom's paper lips. Tom's tongue, in Percy's mouth, is like a strange, startling python slithering through tropical foliage. 

Percy moans as sexual desire finally worms its way to his insides, and his clenched hands find Tom's shoulders to wrench Tom from him.

Tom laughs and produces an angelic face that would have charmed the pants off anybody. "You don't want me?" 

Percy presses his lips together and mutters, "I've got a girlfriend."

"So I've heard," says Tom, arching an eyebrow. "I'm sure she's terribly nice. But nice is such a bland thing to be, isn't it?" He leans closer to Percy. "Anybody can be nice." He traces a finger down Percy's chest, leaving creases in Percy's impeccable white shirt. "Do you know what differentiates the nice from the truly great?" 

In spite of himself, Percy leans forward. 

"Power. Haven't you ever lain in bed and wondered what it would be like to have the whole world worship you? I think you have, Percy. You and I have a fair bit in common. Haven't you got sick of what people think of you? Smart, yes, nice, yes -- about as memorable as the next. You'll fade away, Percy Weasley," hisses Tom, eyes narrowing the red slits. "You'll grow old, fade away and die, and nobody will ever care or remember. You'll be _nothing_. Power changes that. People will remember you. They'll _want _to remember you."

By now, Tom's fingers are digging deep into Percy's flesh, his fingernails leaving crimson half-moons. 

"What do you want, Percy? Because that's what I want. Won't you join me?" asks Tom. 

Percy stares at his feet -- and realized that all the quilted snakes have crawled their way from their respective perches to gather in a writing, virulent mass of gilded green scales on the carpet he is standing on. If he concentrates hard enough, Percy can almost _feel _them snaking up his leg, raising their hooded heads to snap their jaws shut on skin...

"I want to get out," whispers Percy, eyes squeezed shut, cold sweat pouring down his back. 

Tom looks down, and for a moment his head is shrouded in shadow, and his skull looks no more human than his precious snakes. It looks sharp-edged and reptilian, and when Tom grabs Percy chin and kisses him, hard and without courtesy, Percy can swear that there is a searching, forked tongue that flickers in his mouth, tasting his entire brain mercilessly, tasting his entire self, and finally rests in a dark corner of his mind. 

Power. Power is an interesting concept. Tom is the only person who has ever wanted to know, or at least touch, Percy so badly; and Tom is at present the person Percy wants to rub up against, press his hands against yielding, willing flesh and yield in return -- power for power in return. 

But power to Tom, is something to be used and not given -- Percy can glean at least that much from this boy who smiles like a snake and a cheating card dealer and an assassin, all at once. Unfathomable and enticing; much like power itself. 

And Percy really doesn't want to find out if Tom really has scales underneath that skin; or fangs hidden behind already-sharp incisors. Tom is stepping away from him, and there is a whirl of darkness and a feeling of falling...

Then Percy is back in the classroom for History of Magic, and not a second seems to have passed. There's something weird in his shoe, twisting and sinuous. It starts to curl up over his foot, searching for purchase to climb.

Percy crushes his heel down, hard. 

Later on, he finds a small dead snake in his shoe. He flushes it, and the diary of a Tom Riddle down a toilet that he thinks is disused and abandoned, before he can change his mind. He puts his head against the cool white walls, watching his only portal to Tom lie dormant in the U-bend. Beckoning; Tom's whispers and Tom's forked tongue gliding through his head. 

He can remember every word Tom said. Everything Tom did. And the way Tom kissed him, like nothing on Earth. On this Earth, anyway. 

And he tries to breathe. _Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can't see where it keeps its brain_, his mother says to him. But what if it seems the thing is in his brain already? What then?


End file.
